A/N- I'm loving the OC's! I feel so powerful, creating people, giving them pasts and personalities. MUWAHAHAHAHAHA I AM ALL-POWERFUL!

Actually I'm not. Oh well.

Please review! I love opinions!

Chapter Six - History - Acel

I positively hated these business trips. Father didn't really need me along, he just wants to show me off. Like I'm some sort of jewel, or maybe a well-trained dog. Well, I'm not. I'm a person, and I have feelings.

But it's not like I have a choice, so I was sitting in the backseat of the limo, while we drove out to a suburb of the city to see a potential client that I really didn't care about.

"Acel, stop pouting."

Oh Father. "I'm not pouting. I'm simply choosing not to fill the minutes with meaningless chatter."

He sighed. Ha. "Acel-"

"Father-"

He plowed on. Brave man. "We need this. You cannot be sullen and angry at this meeting. It will not sit well with the clients."

I snorted. "'We need this.' Like we needed every other meaningless meeting? No, we don't need this. And my behavior will not determine their decision either way."

He hardened, his face turning flinty. "Acel, stop this. It isn't befitting the son of a corporate businessman."

I was silent, deciding to let it go. Neither of us was going to back down; it would just be a waste of time and breath.

We pulled up to the mansion a few minutes later. It was nearby, but traffic was heavy today. Father hated driving to the clients. He preferred that they come to him, but this was a man who was actually ricer than he was, and Father wanted to earn his approval.

As I was getting out of the limo, I felt the earth shake, and there was a boom so loud that it made the air shudder. I fell, skinning my knees and hands. The earth was silent as the grave, and my brains were scrambled from the shock. I looked at my hands curiously, knowing it was blood, but I had never bled before. It was an odd sensation.

After a moment or two, I heard yells and screams. I took this as a sign that I should probably find out if Father was okay.

"Father?"

Nothing.

I started to panic.

"Father? Father? Where are you?"

I crawled over to the limo, noticing that it had tipped over.

Oh, God, no.

I stood shakily, and stumbled to the other side. My fears were confirmed. The limo had fallen on him. My father was trapped underneath the car, legs broken, eyes shut. I wasn't sure if he was still alive or not.

"Father?" I whimpered.

He didn't answer. I walked up to the mansion, and knocked on the door.

"Excuse me, ma'am, can you call 911? My father is pinned underneath the limo."

The explosion had been a bomb, set off in the city. We had been far enough away that we escaped the worst of it. Our flat had been destroyed, though, so Father rented an apartment in the suburbs. For me, though. He was in the hospital, with broken legs and a little bit of internal bleeding.

The doctors said he'd recover, though.

About four days after the bombing, I heard yelling downstairs, on the bottom floor.

"SOMEBODY CALL THE POLICE!"

"RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"

"GET OUT OF HERE! EVERYBODY LEAVE!"

I didn't bother to go down and investigate. I walked out to the elevator, and took it up to the top floor. From there I took one flight of stairs up to the attic, which seemed to be used for storage. I quickly found a cardboard box, and gingerly stepped into it.

Bleh. The filthy thing was full of blankets, and I was crouching. I couldn't believe myself, crouching in a box of cobwebby blankets.

After about ten minutes, I was about to get out of the disgusting thing and go back to the apartment, when I heard footsteps. Somebody was in the attic with me.

I peeked through the flap, being careful not to move anything but my eyes.

It was a middle-aged guy with a bloody knife. Terrific. I was trapped in a hotel attic with a likely murderer.

Let's just say that the next half hour was nerve-wracking. And later, when he finally left, I stayed in that disgusting box for another ten minutes before getting out, and slowly walked into the elevator and down into the streets.

I found a convenience store, and went inside, only to see that the owners had been killed, blood pooling on the floor. I locked the doors and left the bodies where they were, to keep other people from coming in. Then I went into the janitors closet, made a makeshift bed of towels, and settled in for a long wait.

Logic said that this was an isolated incident. Instinct told me to hunker down and hide, as this was only the beginning.

And, for the first time in my life, I ignored logic.